Chapter 27
by caryns
Summary: I wrote this as an English assignment. The guidelines were to write a twenty-seventh chapter to Catcher in the Rye of how Holden ended up in the mental hospital and had to be written in the style of J.D. Salinger. This takes off right after Holden's day in the park with Phoebe.


AFTER old Phoebe got off the carrousel, she asked me to walk her home. It might've been because I felt so damn happy or it might've been that Phoebe was soaked and I didn't want her catching pneumonia like me, but I said sure.

Now what she did was she started twirling. We were walking home and she started twirling in the rain.

"For Christ's sake, Phoebs, what're ya doing?"

"Holden, will you come home?" I looked at her funny.

"We're going home, aren't we?"

"Yes, but I want to you to stay." Now her face damn near killed me. She was giving that pout look that kids do when they want you to do something and you can't say no because they're giving you that _look_.

"I guess." I s'pose Phoebe was happy with that answer because she started walking with me again.

I was looking down at my feet when I noticed the puddles of water on the ground. It reminded me of the ducks. I still never knew where they went.

"Hey, Phoebe." I said.

"Yes, Holden?"

"D'you know where the ducks go?" I asked her.

"What ducks?"

"Y'know, the ones down in Central Park Lagoon. Where do they go?"

"They migrate, Holden. The ducks leave in the winter, but they come back in the spring." She said all smart-like.

"Wuddya mean they come back? No, they don't."

"Yes, they do. I learned it in school." She said.

"Well, if the ducks can come back then why doesn't Allie come back?" I didn't understand. I really didn't. I figured if some goddam ducks could come back whenever they wanted, then why couldn't Allie come back? Or even that James Castle bastard? It didn't make sense.

"Holden, Allie is dead. He's dead." Phoebe turned to look at me.

I didn't know why, but I was getting mad. "You think I don't know that? Of course I do! Certainly I do! But I don't get it! How can the ducks come back but Allie can't?"

I think old Phoebe got scared because she started crying. She got sore about these things. She was too emotional.

"Stop crying!" I yelled at her and all of a sudden, I started bawling myself. Boy, there was a pounding in my head and I could actually _feel_ my heart pulsing. I couldn't think—I was too dizzy. I just kept screaming to Phoebe. "Stop crying, goddam it! Stop it!"

I don't know what happened or how long I was there, but I just kept crying. I had a helluva time crying. I sat with my head between my knees in the rain, trying to block out the high-pitched ringing in my ears. "Stop it! Stop it!" I kept repeating. Soon, I stopped talking because I couldn't breathe or move my mouth. My chest tightened and I felt nauseous.

God, when my mom showed up, I actually puked. Old Phoebe called her up on a payphone while I was distracted. My mom pulled me into the car despite being wet and smelling vomity. She told me to calm down. Funny thing was that's always what adults do when they don't know what to do. They're phonies like that. They tell you to calm down when you're crying or yelling or doing something that confuses the hell out of them.

Once I was home, I felt slightly more comfortable. Mom made me pack my things, even though I didn't really have a lot of pack, so instead I lit a cigarette. She was talking to my dad on the phone about some place in California. After she hung up, she came to my room. She took my cigarette and put it out.

"Holden, your father and I discussed it and you're going to go away for awhile. There's a mental institution over in California—" That killed me. She was sending me to a mental institution when I needed to go to a hospital. There was a bullet in my gut. "—they have a psychoanalyst there and maybe if you're better by next fall, you'll go to another school. We're deciding between Wilber Academy and Copper Hill. We'll make those arrangements later, but right now, we think it's best if you—"

"Mom, I swear to God, I'm bleeding to death."

She looked at me pityingly. A lot of phonies do. They look at you pityingly, like they know what you're going through. But they don't. They just like to lie to themselves that they're good people. So they try to sympathize with you, but honestly, no one gives a damn if you're bleeding to death.

My mom told Phoebe to stay home and wait for my dad while she took me to the airport. She led me to the car. I didn't want to go to the crumby place with the psychoanalyst. I didn't want to go to California. The only things there were phonies. Prostitutes like D.B. I couldn't stand it. But my mom forced me in the car. There was a bullet in my gut.

Once I got in the car, though, I tried leaving. I was gonna open the door and jump out, but she locked the door. The car smelled like me. It smelled like vomit. I couldn't stand it.

As I sat in the car, I closed my eyes and started crying quietly. My chest hurt like hell, but I was too goddamn worn out to do anything about it, so I just started mumbling, "If a body catch a body coming through the rye."


End file.
